


A Place to Call Home

by mssrj_335



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, FinnPoeWeek20, Fisherman Finn, Fluff, Inspired by Music, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, POV Poe Dameron, Saccharine as all hell, Sailing Lessons, Shopkeeper Poe, cooking as a love language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:33:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25418503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssrj_335/pseuds/mssrj_335
Summary: Finn is a fisherman in the local bay who supplies Poe's shop. Poe wants to be out on the water again and Finn wants someplace to call home.
Relationships: Finn/Poe Dameron, Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 24
Kudos: 56
Collections: FinnPoe Week 2020





	A Place to Call Home

**Author's Note:**

> ah that's the vibe  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NWJz_-hseJQ

When Poe bought the place, he didn’t think the sea would shimmer like it did. Not right up into his shop, anyway. But it does. Dawn bounces off its surface in shades of yellow and orange and white. It always manages to light a little fire in his heart, keeping the flame of a dream alive even if he can't chase it. The sound of the sea makes a smile break his face just about every day. If he were a poet, he'd say it breaks like waves, pulling and pushing and always returning. Or something like that. The fact he sees his favorite fisherman hauling his morning catch has little to do with it.

That’s what he tells himself, at least.

“You better stop mooning and hurry up with that ice,” Jess teases, pinching his side where he’s stalled on the sidewalk. “He’s not going to have anywhere to put that stuff when he gets here.”

Poe startles and sputters at her. He’s not _mooning_. Well. Not publicly, anyway. Doesn’t make her any less wrong though. Just because Poe is his first stop of the day doesn’t mean he won’t have other places to get to in a reasonable amount of time. He watches just a second longer, maybe admiring the distant pull of that fisherman’s shoulders a little more than he should before he goes back into the shops for another bucket of ice. Better to have all the displays ready to go. Inside, that’s already well underway. Jess and Karé are setting out the morning’s fresh-baked breads. Snap is still in the back, probably fiddling with the stove burner that’s still giving him hell. Rose is likely filling orders already placed, making sure it’s all packaged just so. The street market’s just starting to yawn awake and there will be customers soon. The older folks will be out first, sniffing out the day’s freshest before the ball really gets rolling on such a bright morning. Despite the alabaster cracking around the door and its propensity to leak in a spot or two, Poe finds his shop does just as well as the others on the street. Especially on a day like today. A fresh, stiff breeze is blowing, the sun is bright, still soft. There’s chimes tinkling, the smell of the coffee house wafting up the street. He smiles to himself as he gathers a bucket of ice and another of fruit.

It’s going to be a good day.

He dumps the ice to fill the last case. Then, he surreptitiously dips back inside, nabbing a pastry and a paper sack. He tucks a peach and the danish away for Finn, and he's just finished arranging the fruit when he hears a familiar rattle and pop trundling up the cobblestones. He smiles; no one’s around to tease him. Finn’s little truck is filled to the brim with barrels and crates of fish. He’s almost folded into the little cab, bent over the steering wheel, the brim of his cap brushing the hood when he forgets to dodge a pothole. But, as always, when he crests the hill he gives Poe a wave.

_Good customer_ , he tells himself again as he waves back _. He’s waving at a good customer_.

To say it doesn’t make Poe’s stomach flip a bit would be a lie though. Finn pulls up alongside his shop and hops out, his friend Rey already squatting in the truck's bed to hand Poe his first crate. This is how it goes: Rey hands him a crate, goes inside to flirt with Rose. Finn will roll his eyes and wave her off, helping Poe with the second bunch. Poe will awkwardly flirt and probably put a foot in his mouth. He'll hand Finn a sack with a treat, just because, before watching him leave. Finn'll probably wave again, because he always does. So, he's not at all surprised when that's exactly how the exchange starts to go. Maybe just a little embarrassed at his own predictability.

Rey shoves a box into his hands and winks. "Good morning and good luck," she says, stage-whispering with half a hand covering her face.

Well, that's new.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Poe asks.

But she's already dropped her box. She wipes her hands on worn, faded trousers and ducks inside the shop. Just behind her, Poe spies Rose, who's just starting to titter at something Rey's said. Ridiculous, the both of them.

Poe turns back to Finn, who's climbed into the truck to finagle the next box for him. "What's she mean by that?"

Predictably, Finn rolls his eyes. But it's with less of the exasperated amusement and more of a kind of chagrin. "Nothing," he says. "Her mouth's too big for her face and she can't keep it shut."

"I heard that!" Rey calls.

Finn snorts, shouldering the crate and hopping to the street, his truck groaning protest at the sudden loss of weight. Poe's mouth falls open a little. Whatever god or product of evolution that crafted those shoulders has Poe's undying admiration. And those arms. And that everything, really. Finn's a distraction of the highest degree. He shifts, repositions the crate on his shoulder with one hand and tilts his cap back shyly with the other. He smiles and it’s honestly the best thing Poe’s seen all morning.

"What?"

Oh shit.

He's staring.

It's not that Finn never looks good, but today he looks...

"Well, that's somethin' else," Poe murmurs.

Finn quirks a brow, smile a bit of a tease. "What's that?"

Finn's cleaned up, that's what. Usually, he's still slightly damp. Covered in a fine sheen of salt from the air, probably some chum splashed here or there, and more than a little seawater. But today, his cap's sitting a bit straighter. A fresh white shirt's tucked into clean olive pants, a pair of suspenders black and taut pull over his sturdy shoulders. In fact, Poe’s overestimated his own ability to speak with Finn looking like that. His mouth feels a little dry and he has to swallow twice before he can pull words from his brain to his tongue.

“Nothing! You uh,” he breathes, looking Finn over from head to toe. Then he realizes what he said and scrambles, “Um, you clean up good.”

There's no recovering from that moment. If Poe were ten years younger, it might show on his face, but the histrionics are going to stay _inside_ , thank you very much. Poe has to give himself the tiniest shake because Finn’s still standing there with that box of fish on his shoulder. Poe may be flummoxed by the easy way Finn handles himself but it’s got to be heavy.

“Sorry, sorry! C’mon, ice is all set up.”

Poe hefts his crate to his side, trying not to think about the easy stride Finn follows him with.

“How was business this mornin’?” he asks by way of distraction.

“No complaints. We had calm water until we were packing up, plenty of good ones in the catch,” Finn replies.

Poe sighs wistfully. “Must be nice to be out on the water at that time of day. I mean, I know you’re working but it seems pretty beautiful from where I’m standing.”

He hands Finn the sack he prepared, as they always do. At least there's some part of the routine that's still intact. Or, he thinks it is. Until Finn goes quiet for a second, staring nervously at the fish like they’re going to come alive and start a cancan. Poe’s just about to divert and try to fix whatever flub he made when Finn blurts out,

“I wanted to ask you about that, actually.”

Poe blinks at him owlishly.

“Would you want to come sailing with me?”

Poe’s heart leaps and he’s already absolutely going to say yes but Finn still chattering,

“I mean, I know it’s last minute. And it’d just be for fun. Not work. The weather’s supposed to be nice, and the bay is beautiful at sunset. You can see almost to the bottom if the water’s clear enough. Er, oh shit, maybe you had plans already. Damn it, um—”

His hand gets a mind of its own and strays to visit Finn’s forearm. His fingers lay like they live there, and his mouth joins the party with,

“I’d love to.”

Finn’s stares at him, agape for just a second. Poe’s not as surprised at himself as he thought he’d be. Sometimes working on instinct serves him well, despite what Jess might say. Then, the brightest smile—half delighted, half demure—sneaks on Finn’s face and Poe’s a little fluttery about it. Do grown men get fluttery about other grown men? Of course they do, why _wouldn’t_ they? Finn’s certainly worth feeling _fluttery_ about, especially when he leans _just_ that much closer with some kind of look on his face.

“Yeah?”

Poe bites his lip, not sure if it’s to keep himself from saying something stupid or just because he likes the look that much. He nods.

Finn grins. “Meet me at the dock around six?”

“Sounds great,” is what he manages.

Finn looks like he’s going to say something else, but Rose’s laugh carries out into the street, followed quick by Rey and her bright smile, and that’s that.

As they pack up, something strikes Poe. He didn’t ask if this was a date or a _date_. Shit, he could smack himself. Finn’s already pulling up the street to his next stop so there’s no time to ask. Well. Poe decides to play the pessimist card and call it a--just a friendly outing. At least that way he won’t be too disappointed. Really, how could he be disappointed with Finn for company, anyway? But even as he decides it, he knows he’s lying to himself. If Poe feels jittery about it for the rest of the day, well, no one has to know.

—

Poe shows up at the dock at 5:50.

Finn did say _around_ six, and he can’t really keep his anticipation in check anymore. Finn’s striding from the other end of the dock, looking happy as a clam. He’s traded his white shirt for a black one—must’ve gotten dirty during the day—and his suspenders hang loose around his hips, but he looks just as clean-cut as before. He smiles at Poe; there’s a more confident edge to it. Honestly, it makes Poe feel a little fluttery again, and it takes him a second to get grip.

“You ready?” Finn asks, a bit breathless.

Poe gestures with the basket he’s brought along. “Brought snacks, thought maybe we could eat?”

Dinner. He’s brought dinner. It’s just the Dameron way. What do you do with people you’re mooning over? You feed them. So, as soon as the market closed for the day, Poe set about making things portable and delicious. Cuban sandwiches on fresh-baked bread, mango coconut rice pudding, diced fruit, wine—anything he thought Finn might like. Considering the grin it’s bought him, it was a great idea.

“Perfect. Come on.” Finn tosses his head. “We’re just down here.”

Poe frowns a bit. Clearly, Finn’s fishing boat is on the other end of the dock. But, he follows anyway, wondering what the man has in store.

It becomes very apparent that when Finn said sailing, he meant _sailing_. In the last slip of the dock is a tiny daysailer, barely big enough for two. It’s obviously a passion project, because parts of it don’t quite match the others, but every piece has been lovingly restored. The whole of it is a dark wood, its natural grain shining through thick varnish. The tiller isn’t quite the same wood, lighter in color but just as lovely. The sails are mismatched, one white, one blue, hand-sewn here and there. In the front is a tiny trolling motor but that’s it. It’s well and truly a sailing boat. Finn hops on the deck, holding out his hand as he says,

“It’s not much. I just finished it about a week ago.”

Poe hands him the basket, a little gobsmacked at the shy tone in his voice.

“Finn, it’s _beautiful_ ,” he breathes. “You did all this?”

“Most of it.” He sets the basket down and holds out his hand again. “Rey helped, of course. Took a while but most of it was me.”

Poe slides his hand in Finn’s, trying to get his footing on the deck as it lists and _not_ get distracted by the callused grip of Finn’s fingers. Admittedly, he’s a little unsteady. He hasn’t been on a boat in years, not since—well. Not since his mother died. Finn’s still got him in a firm hold, and it’s not until Poe finds a seat that he starts bustling around the boat, undoing the dock lines. He sets about the stern with a paddle, easing them out of the dock into open water. _Oh my_. Poe finds himself a little tongue-tied with the easy strength in Finn’s arms as he guides them out. So that’s what carrying crates all day will do for you. Once they’re fully out in the bay, Finn smiles at him again and says,

“Ok, you ready for your first lesson?”

Poe shakes himself the tiniest bit. “You got it, teach. Show me the ropes.”

Finn chuckles, wrinkling his nose in a way that’s entirely too attractive as he pats the other half of the bench at the rear of the boat.

“No ropes yet. I need to put the sails up, so you’ve got to keep us in the wind.” He gestures to the tiller, moving it back and forth and pointing at the top of the mast. “See the wind vane up there? Keep it going forward. Think you can handle that?”

Poe takes the tiller in hand, giving it an experimental push. He feels the rudder press against the sea, pushing and pulling them in equal measure. He’s trying to concentrate, he really is, and he has a firm eye fixed on the wind vane until Finn fits a hand over his and pushes the tiller just so.

“There,” Finn murmurs. “Keep her forward.”

Poe can’t help it. He glances down at their hands then at Finn, offering him a shaky smile. “Sure thing.”

He could be imagining it, but he’s pretty sure Finn squeezes his hand just once before making his way to the bow. Poe keeps one eye on the wind vane as best he can. It’s harder than it should be, namely because Finn is quite a sight, pulling the halyard taut on the main sail while the sea sparkles behind him. _Wow_ , is the only thing Poe can really think. The second sail Finn leaves bound at the front. Quick as a flash, he secures the lines, scurrying back to Poe’s side to pull on another set of ropes.

“Main sheet,” he says. “Pulls the boom and trims the sail. You keep it taut in the wind and you’ll sail right along. Move it and the rudder to tack and change directions.”

Poe’s shaky smile turns to a grin. “Sounds vaguely familiar.”

Finn cocks an eyebrow. “You sail before? I remember you saying you’d always wanted to learn.”

Poe bites his lip, mentally smacking himself for bringing it up. “My mom used to sail,” he admits. “She used to take us when I was a kid. I guess I wanted to learn, after she passed. Pop didn’t think it was a great idea. He was too scared after, I think. Then, there just wasn’t time.”

Finn’s brow creases. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re kind of giving me a part of her back, doing this. So, thank you.”

And he means it. Finn seems bloom under that, a smile back in place. Poe relaxes a bit and an easy quiet falls between them. While Finn steers them further out to sea, Poe gets lost in the waves and the sound of the breeze. Finn was right. The waves are barely rolling and sand sparkles at Poe from the seabed below. It’s just as soothing as he remembers. The easy sway, the salty smell, burnished afternoon sun lighting on the blue—it all seems a little surreal. A warm, content feeling spreads in Poe’s chest, and it only grows when he glances back and finds Finn with a soft smile. As their little town shrinks to a miniature on the horizon, Finn binds the sheet and lets the sail back down.

“Think here’s a good place to eat,” he says, the swell of the sea the only thing moving them. “It won’t matter if the water pulls us a bit.”

Perfect. Poe came prepared, which is an understatement to say the least. He hoists the basket up, filling each shatterproof glass with a little wine, passing Finn a bit of everything. He laughs to himself when he catches Finn’s eyes going wide.

“What?”

“You call these snacks?”

“Well,” Poe dodges, “can’t let you go hungry.”

Finn eyes the spread. “I don’t think this would let a family of five go hungry.”

That makes Poe laugh out loud. “That’s the goal. ‘If there’s not leftovers, you didn’t make enough.’”

“That the Dameron family motto?” Finn teases.

“You know it.” Poe holds out his glass in a mock of a toast. “You mean your folks don’t try to kill you with food?”

Finn’s eyes fall and Poe immediately regrets the words. Oh no, does Finn—

“My folks weren’t cooking type. Weren’t the stayin’ around type, either.”

“Finn, I’m sorry.” Poe desperately wants that happy smile back. He lays a hand on Finn’s wrist where it rests on his knee. It feels like the right thing to do, and he hopes his instincts aren’t going to let him down. With the way Finn looks at him—a little less sad, softer around the edges—he’s pretty sure he’s on the right track.

“’s ok,” Finn murmurs, getting lost in his glass now. He doesn’t make to move Poe’s hand though, so Poe lets it lie. “I made my way without them. Wasn’t easy but, you know, here we are.”

Poe considers. Rubs a thumb over Finn’s wrist just because he can. This might be a bit much for what they’re doing, but it seems like the right thing too, so, “You’ve done a great job. Own your own business? Get to be out on the sea every day? I’d say you didn’t need them. You should be proud of what you’ve been able to do.”

The _I’m proud of you_ he wants to add goes unspoken. Maybe if he plays his cards right, he’ll get to say it later and Finn will believe him. Finn sighs, smiles just a little, like he’s trying to shake the mood but hasn’t quite got there yet.

“I guess I am. Just one thing missing, really. And I’m sure I’ll find that one of these days. Hopefully sooner rather than later.”

Poe can’t help it. He asks, “Yeah? What’s that?”

Finn keeps staring at his drink, but his hand slowly turns in Poe’s grip until his callused palm lays right under Poe’s. _Oh, this definitely isn’t a friendly outing, surely_. Poe hopes. Finn finally looks up at him, eyes big and dark and a little wide. His expression’s lost some of its confidence, gained a guileless glow. He takes a deep breath, shifts his grip so his fingers slide between Poe’s, perfect pieces fitting into place.

“I’d like some place to call home. For good?”

It comes out a question, so obviously unsure but daring forward despite it that Poe’s heart melts. He squeezes Finn’s hand, sure of where to go now.

“I think I know a spot.”

**Author's Note:**

> welp that was goofy  
> hope you enjoyed! lmk what you thought?  
> happy finnpoe week!!


End file.
